


The Language Of Flowers

by Z A Dusk (snakeandmoon)



Category: Good Omens (TV), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crossover, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Human, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Inspired by The Lord of the Rings, M/M, Middle Earth, Romance, The Lord of the Rings References, archangel hobbits are annoying, aziraphale is a hobbit, but it's really mostly fluff, crowley is kind to plants in this one, samwise gamgee has a cameo, the archangels are bastard hobbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24762943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/pseuds/Z%20A%20Dusk
Summary: When Hobbit scholar Zira encounters reformed human criminal Crowley, there's an instant connection. Love blossoms and the two want to spend their lives together. There's just the pint-sized problem of Zira's Hobbit family who don't approve of him, or his choices, and certainly not his choice to get involved with Crowley.In which Crowley and Aziraphale love each other, flowers have beautiful meanings, there's lots of fluff, and Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard to annoy his family.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 84





	The Language Of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fanlan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanlan/gifts).



> Thank you as always to [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos) for the excellent beta work!!

Zira Goodchild groaned as he slid from the saddle, gave Violet a reassuring pat on the neck, and knocked on the gate of Bree. He’d been travelling for more than a day, and every part of his body hurt. Seventy was too far into middle age to go traipsing across the countryside, but he’d heard that the Bree Underhills had an excellent library that rivalled even that of Great Smials. He was hoping to exchange a few hearty ounces of Southfarthing pipe-weed for access to the botany section.

With Violet settled in the nearby stables, Zira secured a room at The Prancing Pony, and settled himself in a corner near the fire with a glass of local ale, and a plate of thick fresh bread and creamy cheese. By the time he lit his after-dinner pipe, he was feeling quite at peace with the world. He always felt a little freer in Bree, far from his family. They didn’t approve of his passion for plant lore, thinking it silly compared to the laws and history they preferred to study. Enjoying the distinct lack of snide remarks, Zira took out his journal and continued sketching his ideas for the garden at Feather Hall, his home in Hobbiton.

“This seat taken?”

“Um … no?”

Zira looked up in surprise as a man slid into the seat opposite him, long legs barely fitting under the table, his entire demeanour one of disenchantment.

“Just spotted a ragtag band of fellows I used to know and wish I hadn’t,” the man muttered by way of explanation, then grabbed Zira’s journal and held it up to shield his face, pretending he was engrossed in it.

Baffled, but not wishing to be rude, Zira let him, and quietly observed the man as he did his best to hide from what looked like a gang of ruffians at the bar. He had hair the colour of rust and deep amber eyes that made Zira think of firelight reflected off glass. He was really rather captivating.

When a tall, lanky man with hair like straw and a shorter man with strange coloured eyes and a demeanor like he could happily rip off your right arm, left the inn, Zira’s new companion handed the journal back to him with a sheepish half-smile.

“Nice sketch. Lot of the language of flowers in that layout. Let’s see … carnations for love, white chrysanthemums for truth, ivy for friendship, and lilac for youthful joy.”

Zira gaped at the man, who shrugged.

“Big flower-lore fan, me. Name’s Crowley. Yours?”

“Zira. Short for Aziraphale. I prefer the short version because it annoys my family.”

“Bit of a long name for a hobbit, that,” Crowley mused.

“Yes, well, my family has a most unhobbit-like belief in being as ostentatious as possible. I’ve heard it said around the Shire that they’re trying to be pint-sized elves.”

“What brings you to Bree, then? Bit of a trek from Hobbiton.”

“How do you know I’m from Hobbiton?”

Crowley gave a slow smile, one side of his mouth quirking up.

“The accent. Though you look more like a proper Bree Fallohide, with your fair skin and light hair.”

“You seem to know a lot about hobbits.” Zira leaned against the back of the settle and took a long drink of ale.

“Yeah, well. Always good to know as much as you can. Never know who you might meet. Go on then, why are you all the way out here?”

By the time Zira had finished explaining excitedly about the botany books, they were on their third shared jug of ale, and Zira had tempted Crowley to try the Southfarthing pipe-weed, which shockingly he’d never had. As Crowley leaned his long frame back in the seat and blew out a perfect smoke ring, Zira felt his heart thud with sudden emphasis, as if warning him to be careful. Or perhaps to be reckless. He’d never been reckless in love - or in any part of his life really - but Crowley was more thrilling than the most fascinating tree lore and more lovely to behold than even the rarest rose.

Zira was very glad he’d chosen that day to travel to Bree. When the innkeeper told Crowley they had no more rooms free that night, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to suggest they share. Crowley was the perfect gentleman, insisting Zira take the bed, arguing that his long legs wouldn’t fit on the hobbit-sized frame anyway. At Zira’s insistence, he at least took the pillows and used them to get comfortable on the floor. His long hair tumbled free from its leather thong as he slept, pooling over the pillows like the sunset over clouds. Zira knew this because he barely slept the whole night, too entranced by Crowley’s profile in the moonlight.

********

After their first night in The Prancing Pony, Zira had returned to Bree far more times than could strictly be necessary, even for research. He’d always planned his trips in advance, let Crowley know when he was going to be there, and if Crowley happened to be travelling that way, well, fancy seeing you here and can I tempt you to some lunch?

Of course, Crowley always happened to be travelling there. No matter how inconvenient. 

On this particular night, he was cold to the bone and aching in every limb. He’d been scratching out a meagre living as a hand for hire, helping on farms or with house repairs, thankful that his mother had taught him as many practical skills as she could. The thought of a night in front of the fire with Zira was enticing to say the least.

The strains of a love song floated on the air as a maiden with a beautiful voice sang to the assembled patrons. The fire was warm, the music was enchanting, and then there was Zira, walking through the door with that slightly concerned look he so often wore. Crowley already felt a glow inside from the wine and firelight, but then Zira saw him and gave a smile that would turn any flower away from the sun in favour of it.

The warmth inside Crowley turned to a burning heat that he couldn’t resist any longer. As Zira slid into the seat beside him, Crowley reached out and let his long fingers stroke Zira’s butter-soft skin and trail their way into his sun-kissed hair. When the other man smiled more brightly, and leaned affectionately into the touch, Crowley was already lost. He moved a few inches closer, and before he could decide whether to be brave, Zira decided for him.

Clutching the front of Crowley’s tunic, he pulled him into an inexpert but utterly thrilling kiss. Stifling a low groan, Crowley responded with equal fervour, wrapping both arms around Zira and holding him tight against his chest as they kissed over and over, until Crowley’s insides felt like they’d turned to liquid and all he could do was flow against Zira, chasing after his apple and earth taste like a bee after nectar.

********

Crowley had not thought this through. Like so many things in his life, he’d acted first and thought - or at least cursed himself for not thinking - later.

It had made sense. Of course it had made sense. Where was the one place his old criminal gang wouldn’t think to look for him? Tucked away in Hobbiton. 

Not to mention the slightly inconvenient but nonetheless undeniable truth that he was head over heels in love with one Zira Goodchild, aristocratic halfling plant scholar and somehow, inexplicably, the bloody love of Crowley’s life.

This was not supposed to happen. Fells did not fall in love. They looked out for themselves. That’s what his Easterling father had done. He’d abandoned his mother when she got pregnant, leaving her to raise a child who’d inherited his sallow skin and, apparently, his criminal disposition. From his part-Dúnedain mother, Crowley had inherited his red hair and his unusually long life span.

Getting involved with Morwen Fell had embittered her, and she’d cautioned Crowley from a young age that his heart would lead him astray, so never trust it. Crowley had taken her advice seriously, forsaking his own dreams of a quiet cottage with flowers in the garden, instead falling in with a rough gang, and making something of a name for himself as a pickpocket extraordinaire. Several years in prison had made him keen to give up his old life and retire somewhere quiet. 

And then Zira had looked at him like that, and kissed him like _that,_ and suddenly it was impossible to see him only once every two or three weeks. So when Zira, starry-eyed and drunk on long, leisurely kisses, had suggested Crowley come home with him to Hobbiton, he hadn’t thought twice. Just packed up his meagre possessions and ridden back to the Shire with Zira.

Crowley didn’t regret it for a second. Even if he wasn’t comfortable saying the words aloud, he was falling deeper in love with Zira every day. He loved their long evenings spent by the fire while Zira read him poetry, or he sung Zira the epic tales taught to him by his mother. He loved to sprawl on the sofa, an ill fit for his tall frame, with Zira’s head in his lap, and listen while Zira talked enthusiastically about his research, and his lifelong dream of cultivating a midnight star bloom right there in the Shire. Many botanists claimed to have seen one, even grown one, but there was no hard evidence. The mythical flowers needed extreme care and careful attention, but the result was rumoured to be magnificent: Midnight blue blooms speckled with white spots like stars and a centre of velvety red, emitting a scent so comforting that just being around them felt like home.

There was just the minor, halfling-sized problem of Zira’s family.

Oh, Sauron’s sake. They’d taken against him at first sight, somehow managing to sneer down their noses despite his superior height. As far as Zira’s siblings - Michael, Gabriel, Sandy, and Uri - were concerned, Hobbiton was no place for any man. Especially not one whose whole demeanour screamed “allegedly reformed criminal.”

And definitely, absolutely, not one who was romantically involved with their youngest sibling, who, despite being well into middle age, they insisted on treating as a moonstruck adolescent who didn’t know his own mind.

It was subtle at first. Little digs here and there when they visited - and oh boy did they visit often. A seemingly innocent investigation into Crowley’s parentage. A polite enquiry as to whether he happened to know what conditions were like in the prisons east of Mordor. A firm hint that it was getting late and didn’t he ought to be getting back to wherever he’d come from?

When that didn’t dislodge him, their efforts intensified. No matter how many locks Zira put on the round front door of his smial, they somehow managed to manufacture a spare key. No matter how many excuses he made, Zira was repeatedly roped into umpteen family and community events that kept him almost too busy to see Crowley. 

When Zira came home late from yet another day of making flower garlands and repainting benches for the upcoming summer festival, Crowley could stand it no longer. He had to take action.

And so, Crowley found himself crouched on a very small bench, trying to deftly sew bunting with fingers that were far too big for hobbit-sized needles, and doing everything in his power to win over four angry members of the Goodchild family, who were very unhappy at his presence. Crowley would rather throw himself into a pool of boiling sulphur than suffer one more correction from Uri (don’t sew the seam that way! You’re ridiculous!) but he wasn’t leaving Zira, and that was that. So gossip and sewing it was.

********

Zira should have known it would be like this. Should have known his siblings would never just let him be with someone like Crowley, or for that matter with anyone at all. It had been made very clear to him from an early age that his duty was to the family first and foremost. His own needs mattered less than those of the average pony.

But Crowley encouraged his interests. He listened while Zira told him excitedly about the midnight star. Zira had seen pictures in books, but no one he knew had seen one in real life, not even Samwise Gamgee or his old gaffer. Crowley even put up with Zira’s family goading him at the summer festival meetings he now insisted on attending.

The last one, though. Oh, that had been interesting. And Zira had a plan.

It had all started with talk of the growers’ contest, a time-honoured part of the summer festival.

“My artichokes are sure to be the best in show,” Michael had sniffed, with a superior look.

“No other hobbit will grow anything as beautiful as my roses,” Sandy had countered. “My special mix of fertilizer and aggressive pruning works every time.”

“He’s an aggressive prune,” Crowley whispered to Zira in an aside, causing him to nearly splutter his tea.

“So, this growing competition. Open to anyone, is it? Or are outsiders banned?” he’d said aloud to the gathered hobbits. 

Zira’s family had looked at each other with a mix of disgust at the thought of an outsider joining and amusement that any non-Shire folk could think themselves fit to grow for a Shire contest. But after much discussion, they’d agreed that there was nothing in the rules to stop an outsider taking part.

“You grow something good enough to get a ribbon, and we’ll reconsider letting you stay with Zira,” Uri had sneered on the way out, dark eyes glinting.

“Let me?!” Crowley seethed at her retreating back. “As if you get the final say over what I do, you sanctimonious -”

Zira hastily pulled him away before he could say anything else.

“Hush, you firecracker.” He leaned up and kissed Crowley’s cheek softly. “I know they’re as much fun as a bag of soggy pipe-weed, but I’ll say one thing for them: They’re sticklers when it comes to their pride. If you can beat them at the growers’ contest, they really will back down a bit, you’ll see. Trust me, I have a plan.”

********

As plans went, it was an excellent one, Crowley thought as he carefully placed their floral display on the table and stood back, unable to keep his proud smile in check. Zira’s research had proved invaluable and between the two of them they were able to source the blessed water, crystal chips, and rare crushed sundust plant leaves needed to grow the midnight star.

Of course there was also the matter of singing to the seedlings every night, which Crowley absolutely would not do for anyone except Zira, but which he clearly must have done right, judging by the luscious crop of midnight stars that adorned their entry to the contest.

The judges reached their table. Crowley found he was holding his breath as they stared for a moment at the beautiful display of carnations, chrysanthemums, ivy and lilac, cultivated in the shape of Feather Hall and its new garden. When they reached the healthy crop of midnight stars growing outside the tiny wooden door, a collective gasp went up.

“Well, well, well. Never thought I’d see these ‘ere.” Samwise Gamgee gave Crowley an encouraging smile. “Well done, Mr. Fell. I ‘ope we’ll see you next year.”

Zira smiled and nudged Crowley with his elbow. Crowley smiled back - and his smile widened when he caught sight of the rest of the Goodchild family gaping at them in shock. When the judges took the podium and announced Zira and Crowley second place winners, neither of them could resist giving Zira’s siblings a cheeky wave as they pinned the ribbons to their clothes.

********

“We were the perfect team, dear boy,” Zira commented when they rolled home later, pleasantly warm from several ales at The Green Dragon, where the bartender Rosie had even greeted Crowley by name, as if he might become a regular. “I was always a better gardener in theory than in practice. Your skills made the whole thing work.”

Crowley smiled, putting the display down and wrapping his arms around Zira, pulling him close for a gentle kiss. Zira sighed and sank into it, savouring the bonfire and red wine taste of him.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you included all the flowers from our first meeting, you old romantic,” Crowley murmured. ”But I still don’t know - what’s the meaning of midnight star?”

“Ah, that.” Zira leaned up for another kiss. “That means wishes do come true.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are fuel for hungry authors - I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> What are you in the mood for now?
> 
> Delicious pining with a happy ending, featuring an account of Crowley's fall and some true!form sex? Try [The Heart Asks Pleasure First](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352145).
> 
> More true!form deliciousness, featuring a cosmic meet-cute between a star-creating Throne and a gentle Principality? Check out [Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192903).
> 
> Sweet post-canon Tadfield adventure, featuring an ensemble cast, a little magical summoning, Tracy finding her place in the world, and Crowley being good with kids? Try [Darksome Night and Shining Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579987).
> 
> A little gentle emotional hurt/comfort, featuring a loving Aziraphale helping Crowley through his trauma from the burning bookshop, and guest appearances from Madam Tracy and Anathema? [In These Flames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623877) could be just right for you.
> 
> In the mood for something longer, featuring a long slow burn, stolen kisses, and so much angst and fluff and sweetness you might need to watch your blood sugar? Dive into [All The Seasons Of My Heart.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640552)
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://zadusk.tumblr.com) \- I'm always up for talking about Good Omens!


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